


Gondor Calls for Aid

by keylimepie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Desperate Dean Winchester, Fix-It, M/M, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keylimepie/pseuds/keylimepie
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are having a lovely happily ever after when they receive a desperate plea for help
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like everyone else, I need to write things to make myself feel better, because I feel very very bad right now. I just wrote this real quick, barely edited, yada yada, take it for what it is.

Aziraphale was sitting at his cluttered desk, examining an elderly leather bound volume with a slightly cracked spine, debating on whether to repair it manually or just miracle the damage away. He did find himself enjoying the feeling of repairing things with his own two hands. Unless, of course, it was difficult. Crowley was sat on the tiled floor in the sunroom nearby. His hair shone in the sunlight and his lanky legs sprawled out everywhere; he was repotting a particularly messy fern, crumbles of soil covering his hands and the floor in front of him. The roomba whirred nearby, though it looked trepidious at the thought of having to clean that up. Aziraphale cast a fond smile at him. Crowley returned the grin, and Aziraphale felt a little shiver go through him. They were so happy here, in this lovely cottage. Sappy at the thought, Aziraphale blew him a kiss and as Crowley blushed in return he was considering getting up from his seat and going over there for a real kiss, when there was a knock on the door. 

“Special delivery. Very urgent,” said the postman with a kind smile. He held a square of parchment sealed with a blob of wax. It glistened with the tingle of magic. “For Mister Aziraphale.” He stood patiently while Aziraphale signed the clipboard. The angel felt like there was a noose tightening around his neck. They were off on their own, free and happy, and no one should be bothering them ever again. With shaking hands, he took the letter and shut the door. As he sat down, Crowley was at his elbow with a fresh cup of cocoa. 

“Bles- ah, thank you, dearest,” Aziraphale said. Crowley leaned on the back of his chair, his hands strong and warm on Aziraphale’s shoulders. The touch was reassuring. They’d already faced so much, and now that they had each other, they could face anything. Bravely, Aziraphale broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Instead of written words on the sheet, there was a flash of light and then a hologram popped up, clear as anything in front of them. It was a man, a middle aged man in rough work-clothes. He was probably attractive enough ordinarily, but he looked an utter mess in this moment. He was sitting on a dingy floor in a dingy room, leaned against a wall, and from the looks of things he’d been sobbing for hours. And drinking; he was surrounded by empty bottles.

“This is Dean Winchester,” he said in a deep, rough voice. “I’m sending this prayer out to any entity in any universe, I don't give a shit who or where or how, anyone who can help me rescue the angel Castiel from the Empty.” His voice broke into sobs again, and it was a moment before he could speak again. “I’m prepared to offer… I don’t even know, anything, everything. I just need to bring him back. He deserves… he deserves everything, everything I never gave him, I… please if anyone has any… any feelings, I just… I’m so stupid and I waited too long and I never thought I could have him. And now that I know I could have... I can’t…” the prayer began to fizzle out as Dean hunched over in uncontrollable sobs once again. 

Aziraphale was stunned. He squeezed Crowley's hand tightly where it rested on his shoulder. "Oh my dearest, we must help my poor cousin. And his broken-hearted human. We cannot leave them like that!" 

Crowley swallowed thickly. He thought about a burning bookshop, and then a sea of alcohol in a pub. And about waiting too long, and thinking one could never truly have the angel in one’s life. He knew exactly what this Dean Winchester was going through. 

“Well then, let’s go angel.” 

In just a few moments they had closed up the little cottage and sat in the Bentley. A glowing tear between the universes rose from the ground in front of the car. Crowley clasped Aziraphale’s hand on the seat between them as he floored the accelerator through the rift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean receives some unexpected guests, and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote a bit more, and there seems to be perhaps 2 more chapters to go in this. I would ordinarily disclaim that I didn't try very hard and this isn't very good, except that clearly I'm trying much harder than certain so-called professional storytellers. *insert eyeroll emoji*

Dean was sitting in the bunker’s library nursing a beer and reading a book when he heard a car in the garage. It was 9 a.m. and as far as he knew, Sam was still in bed. They’d been up late into the night researching, he and Sam and Eileen, and Dean seriously doubted that they’d gone on an early morning drive. So, weird. Dean slid the gun from his waistband and headed down the hallway. 

He didn’t recognize the sound of the engine that was running, and then it cut off before he even reached the garage. Doors opened and shut. Voices, but he couldn’t make them out. Dean’s hackles continued to rise. 

He opened the garage door carefully, gun ready in his hand. There was a car in the center of the garage that he’d never seen before. A beauty of a car too; an antique Bentley in pristine shape. And standing next two it were two weird guys. Dean squinted.

“It’s him!” said one of them. The shorter, plumper one; he had short, pale hair and was dressed like a really stuffy professor. He approached Dean, smiling brightly, and held out his hand. “It’s you, isn’t it? Dean Winchester?”

Dean looked warily at the cheerful, friendly guy in front of him, unable to shake the feeling of comfort and peacefulness that he was starting to feel against all instinct, then glanced over at his companion. Skinny goth dude in black clothes and sunglasses, with shaggy bright red hair, this one looked like trouble. “The hell are you doing in my garage?” Dean demanded. 

“We’re answering your summons, of course,” Aziraphale said. “Your prayer. It came to me.” He was still smiling.

Dean’s attention focused. “You got my prayer? About- about saving C- helping me get into the Empty?” 

“Yes, precisely,” Aziraphale said. “My name is Aziraphale. I’m- well, there’s no easy way to put it, I’m an angel from another dimension. I have heard about him before, my cousin Castiel, so of course when I received your prayer, it seemed only right that we should intervene. Oh! Dear me, where are my manners? This is my partner, Crowley,” he added, tucking his hand into Crowley’s elbow. 

Dean nodded, relaxing ever so slightly. Okay, a couple of quirky other world angels. Well, it wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen this week. “And what’s your price?”

“Price? Oh no, my dear boy, we don’t want anything from you! We’re simply here to help.” 

“Well, uh.” Dean realized that his feet were getting cold on the concrete floor, that he was in fact barefoot and in boxers and a t-shirt with his robe thrown overtop. “Why don’t you guys come in and we’ll talk?” 

As they walked through the corridors of the bunker, Crowley and Aziraphale explained themselves and detailed the apocalypse they’d been through the previous year - Aziraphale did most of the talking, but Crowley chimed in with various snarky and rude observations. Dean was shocked at first when Crowley mentioned that he was a demon, but he couldn’t help but like the guy regardless. Finally, they got to the library and Dean pushed the door open. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. 

Crowley grinned and studied the delighted look on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Oh! You have _so many books_ ” he gasped as he walked toward the nearest bookshelf to study it, touching the spines reverently. “Oh!” 

“Yeah the, uh, Men of Letters - they were like this secret club of monster hunting nerds - they collected this stuff over, I dunno, a long time. Sam and me - my little brother, Sam, and his girlfriend Eileen, we’re all legacy members. Though we’re still figuring it out. Anyway, yeah. Very useful for research, except that no one seems to have written about the Empty, that I can find.” He gestured to the haphazard pile of books and files on the central table, the remnants of yesterday’s research.

“I may have the advantage of you there,” Aziraphale said. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a book. A small volume, not much bigger than a cheap paperback, bound in dark blue leather with almost completely worn away gold lettering. “I did some research myself before we came. And The Empty is a subject with which I am familiar.” 

“Our different universes, we have different Heavens and Hells,” Crowley explained. “But The Empty is The Empty. It’s the great big Hoover bag of all existence.” He looked over at Aziraphale, his mouth tight with tension. “Time was when I thought that my angel… well I found out he was alright before I got beyond the drink myself silly phase, but…” He glanced over at Dean. Dean felt suddenly very exposed, like the demon was looking inside of him. Which, Dean figured, was entirely possible. He felt pity and understanding coming from Crowley toward him, and something that he might almost call kindness, just maybe not out loud to the demon’s face.

There was a shuffling in the hallway, and momentarily Sam entered the room, bleary eyed and messy haired, in pajama pants and a thermal shirt. He stiffened when he saw the strangers in the room. “Uh…? Dean?” 

Dean quickly made the introductions and explanations, to Sam and to Eileen, who had come in just behind him. Both were wary, even more than Dean had been, though Eileen was softened somewhat by the fact that both Crowley and Aziraphale were fluent in sign language. 

“Excuse us for a moment,” Sam said with a tight smile, and he led Dean out into the hallway. “Dean you cannot make a deal or whatever and do stupid stuff with strangers - you know Cas wouldn’t want you to risk-”

“Sam, don’t you dare. Keep his name out of your mouth if you’re okay with just leaving him there, because..” Dean’s voice started to crack, and his next words came out an angry growl to bite back on the sadness. “Because I can’t.” 

Sam leaned back against the wall, mulled it over, and finally huffed a resigned sigh. “He’s going to be so pissed at you.” 

“I can deal with that. He wants to take a swing at me, beat me to a pulp, not talk to me for a year, I can deal with that. I just can’t deal with him being… I need him to be okay.” 

“And you trust these guys?”

Dean snorted. “They’re too weird not to be for real.”

They went back into the library. Eileen was seated on one side of a table, Aziraphale across from her, and they were looking over the book that Aziraphale had brought with him and signing rapidly. Crowley had draped himself over one of the wingback chairs and was playing with a yo-yo, looking both extremely bored, and extremely fascinated by Aziraphale.

“So what’s the scoop?” Dean asked, gesturing toward the book in Aziraphale’s hand. 

“There’s a spell,” Aziraphale said. “We can open a doorway into The Empty. It should properly be done by a powerful witch, and as far as going in, neither of us can go that far, I’m afraid. You’ll have a hard enough time getting one non-human out, nevermind three of us.” 

“It’s a million to one shot,” Crowley said. “You’re far more likely to be killed in the attempt than to be successful.” 

Dean shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”


End file.
